


Annual

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Birthday, Cleaning, Clumsiness, Cooking, Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, Drinking, Established Relationship, Grocery Shopping, Living Together, M/M, Movie Night, No Plot/Plotless, Power Outage, Sakura (Cherry Blossoms), Sickfic, Snow, Sunburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-06 14:57:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3138467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scenes from Ukai and Takeda's relationship over the course of a year, starting just as Takeda turns thirty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. January

It takes Takeda several seconds after waking to determine where he is.

In his defense, the room is minimally unfamiliar, the bed a little wider than his own and the walls more or less bare instead of his own cluttered surroundings. It makes the space look bigger when he sits up to peer myopically at the room, makes everything look tidy until he locates his glasses and fits them onto his face. Then everything comes into focus, the unsteady stack of magazines on the far side of the bed and the jacket flung over the top of the dresser, shoes toppled upside down in the corner and a white shirt fallen over them.

Takeda slides out from under the blankets, crawls over the bed to look closer. That is  _definitely_  his shirt, the fold rumpled across what are clearly Ukai’s sneakers, and it’s not like he didn’t recognize the almost-clutter of the space anyway. The blond in question is nowhere to be seen, though, so Takeda gets up off the bed, fumbles through the clothes on the floor until he finds a t-shirt that appears reasonably clean and tugs it on over his head in preparation for venturing out into the main room.

He can smell something cooking as soon as he steps out of the bedroom, the sound of frying butter and the low-level mumble of Ukai cooking. He always talks to himself while he cooks for reasons Takeda has yet to determine, mumbles at the food and the burner and the pan itself with varying levels of politeness depending on how well things are going. This time there’s no cursing, which is a good sign, and when Takeda pokes his head around the corner Ukai is actually smiling, which is the best of all possible indications.

Takeda doesn’t think he’s been spotted, but when Ukai speaks next it’s louder, directed at him without the blond even glancing up from what he’s doing. “Are you planning to put pants on, or are you just going to make do with my shirt?”

“Hm?” Takeda looks down, realizes how far past his hips the hem of the shirt falls and that the logo on the front isn’t one he recognizes. “Oh!”

“You don’t have to change,” Ukai says as he turns to pull the pan off the stove and push the contents onto a plate. There’s a waft of scent towards Takeda’s nose, something rich and savoury and a little bit spicy so he nearly loses the thread of the conversation for trying to place it. “It’s your birthday, you can wear whatever you want.”

“I didn’t mean--” Takeda starts, and Ukai turns around and he gets the full impact of the apron tied over the other’s pajama pants and t-shirt. Takeda’s words fail, his thoughts scatter, and Ukai pushes a plate against his chest and waits until the other’s hands come up to take the weight. Takeda looks down -- excitingly colorful scrambled eggs and toast, neither of which are burnt -- and Ukai’s voice washes out over the top of his head.

“Happy birthday, sensei.” The words are soft, stripped even of Ukai’s habitual roughness, and then a hand ruffles through Takeda’s sleep-tousled hair before a kiss lands lopsided at his hairline. “Can’t believe you’re thirty, now.”

“It’s not that much older!” Takeda insists, retreading familiar conversational routes, but when he looks up Ukai is laughing at him, grinning without moving away, and Takeda has to start smiling too.

“You sure don’t  _look_  older than me,” he teases, leaning in closer so he can take full advantage of his increased height, and Takeda shuts his eyes, dips his head to bump his forehead against Ukai’s shoulder.

They’re still for a moment, just the occasional sizzle from the cooling pan to break the early-morning silence between them; then Ukai speaks, slowly and carefully.

“So that’s the first part of your present,” he says, lifting a hand to bump the edge of the plate still clutched in Takeda’s hands. “It was supposed to be breakfast in bed, but you didn’t stay put.”

“Sorry,” Takeda apologizes instantly, but he’s smiling and Ukai’s still talking over him.

“The second part is.” Ukai pauses, clears his throat. “A question, actually. You should put that down.”

“What?” Takeda looks up, tightens his grip unconsciously, but Ukai is grabbing at the edge of the plate and sliding it free from his hands to set against the counter. Takeda’s hands are still in midair when Ukai turns back and folds his arms over his chest.

“So.” He coughs, clears his throat again, longer this time. “This is weird. I feel like I should be on one knee or something.”

“ _What_?” Takeda chokes and it’s a good thing he’s not holding the plate because the way his hands flutter up is wholly beyond his control. “Just because your parents want you to get married doesn’t--”

“ _No_ ,” Ukai blurts, unfolds his arms to grab at Takeda’s wrists and hold him steady. “No, god, I’m not proposing or anything.”

“Oh.” Takeda’s racing pulse slows a little, his breathing comes back under control. “Okay.”

“Not that I don’t want--” Ukai starts, cuts himself off. “No. Hang on. You’re distracting me.” He’s frowning, growling over the words like he does when Takeda wakes him up too early in the morning, but his eyes are soft and Takeda can’t help but smile at the protest in the other’s voice.

“Look.” Ukai lets Takeda’s hands go, lets his arms fall to his sides. “Move in with me.” Takeda blinks at him and Ukai keeps talking, his gaze fixing itself at Takeda’s shoulder instead of meeting his eyes. “You’re here all the time anyway, your stuff is everywhere and I could help you move.” He raises a hand to gesture vaguely at Takeda’s shirt. “We can’t even tell our things apart anymore. It’ll be cheaper, too.”

Takeda finds his words. “Frugality is an important consideration.”

“That’s not why!” Ukai protests, but it’s enough to bring his gaze snapping back up to meet Takeda’s. “I’m just trying--are you teasing me?”

“Yes,” Takeda answers immediately, and he can’t even attempt to hold back his grin, now. “Yes, I’ll move in with you.”

“Oh.” Ukai lets all his breath out in a huff, brings a hand up to push through his hair. “Thank god.”

Takeda reaches out to match his hand, slides his other fingers up against the back of Ukai’s neck. “Did you think I was going to refuse?”

“Well.” Ukai’s eyes are sliding down again, landing at Takeda’s mouth this time while his hand comes out to push at the fabric of his shirt against the other’s hip. “I didn’t want to take you for granted or anything.”

Takeda laughs, bright and delighted, turns his head up for the brief friction of a kiss before he says, “You should take me for granted.” He lets his other arm slide down around Ukai’s shoulders, rocks up onto his toes, and that’s all the warning he offers before he brings a leg up to hook around Ukai’s waist. His balance wobbles, Ukai makes a noise of protest, but a hand comes in against Takeda’s leg to balance him and then he’s taking the whole of the other’s weight, leaning back to manage some kind of stability.

“I could have dropped you,” he growls, turning to lean them both against the edge of the counter.

“You didn’t,” Takeda points out, tipping his head in so he can half-kiss Ukai’s hairline. “It’s fine.”

“I can’t believe you,” Ukai huffs, but when Takeda ducks in for a kiss he’s smiling, if unwillingly, and his hands at the other’s back are gentle and steadying.

So far, Takeda likes being thirty.


	2. February

The other side of the bed is empty when Ukai’s alarm goes off.

It takes him a minute to process the implications of this. He’s still bleary with sleep, all his attention drifting under the influence of fading unconsciousness, and for the first few seconds he can’t figure out why everything feels uncanny and wrong. Then he gets the alarm turned off, falls back over the mattress, and when his arm hits the sheets without resistance he realizes what’s missing.

“Ittetsu?” He sits up but the room is as empty of other occupants as the bed, dark and silent except for the sound of Ukai’s own breathing. At least he’s awake, now, if only due to his confusion at this break in his routine. He tosses back the blankets, gets to his feet and kicks at the dark shapes of abandoned clothing on the floor until he locates pajama pants; the early-morning air is too chill to be comfortable in just boxers. He fumbles the door open while he’s still tugging the clothing up over his hips, turns down the hallway and follows the glow of illumination to the living room.

He’s opening his mouth to call out again when he sees Takeda and goes quiet instead. The other is right where Ukai left him the night before, hunched over the table and the stack of ungraded tests he started on as soon as they finished dinner. The only difference is that there are fewer papers in the stack under his hands, and he’s tipped forward instead of upright, his shoulders curled into unconscious relaxation and his head pillowed against his forearm. He didn’t even manage to get his glasses off -- they’re askew on his face, the frames tilted up across his forehead so Ukai can see the dark lashes against his closed eyes without the interruption of the lenses.

“Ittetsu,” he says again, more softly this time, as he crouches down alongside the other. “Hey. Sensei. Wake up.” Takeda doesn’t move, doesn’t even stir until Ukai takes his shoulder and gently shakes him. Then he whimpers sleepy protest, turns his face down into his arm. Ukai reaches out to save the other’s glasses from the motion, holds them out of range while Takeda sighs into his sleeve before lifting his head and blinking at the other.

“I thought you were going to bed?” His hair is even more of a mess than usual, crushed flat on one side and curling soft across his forehead. The pattern of his jacket sleeve is pressed into his cheek, a red stripe along his jaw that hasn’t yet had time to fade, and with his glasses off Ukai can see the soft blur of sleep in his gaze, the faint shadow of a night’s poor sleep collected under his eyes.

He can’t help the impulse that propels him forward, that presses his lips to the threat of a yawn at Takeda’s mouth. Takeda’s eyes shut, he makes a noise of drowsy surprise, and Ukai shuts his eyes for a moment, lets the slow friction of the other’s lips shifting against his lull him back to something close to a dream for a moment. Then he retreats, recovering himself in time to watch Takeda’s eyes open slow and heavy with pleasure and his mouth curve unconsciously on a smile.

“Here.” He presses the frames into Takeda’s hand, waits until the other’s fingers tighten on the glasses before he lets go. “I did go to bed. It’s morning.”

“Is it?” Takeda fits the glasses onto his face, looks up at the clock. “Oh!” That has a little more energy, some of the frenetic activity Ukai usually sees in the other. Takeda lifts a hand as if to straighten his hair, though all he succeeds in doing is ruffling the dark locks into more of a mess than they were originally. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep out here.”

“Didn’t think you did.” Ukai pushes back to his feet, offers a hand to pull Takeda up as well. “You should still have a few hours, if you want to try sleeping in the bed instead.”

Takeda takes the offer of support, stumbles to his feet and lifts a hand to cover a yawn. “No,” he says, shaking his head in spite of the evidence of his exhaustion. “I’m never awake with you in the morning. I can’t lose this opportunity.”

“You’ll be tired all day,” Ukai warns, but it’s more an observation than true discouragement, and he doesn’t let Takeda’s hand go.

The other shrugs one-shouldered, fights back another yawn to manage a smile instead. “It’s just one day.” He squeezes against Ukai’s fingers before letting his hold go and turning towards the kitchen. “I’ll make us some tea.”

Takeda doesn’t see the way Ukai smiles at his shoulders as he disappears around the corner. It’s probably for the best, if Ukai’s going to avoid distractions and make it to his first shift on time. Still, his smile lingers even once Takeda’s out of sight, keeps tugging at the corner of Ukai’s mouth while he showers and brushes his damp hair into order.

He suspects he could get used to this kind of morning.


	3. March

“What are you doing, sensei?”

Takeda jumps at the voice behind him, slams the book in his hands shut as he twists around so sharply he nearly falls. “Ukai-kun!” It’s a long way up to see the other’s face, the farther because Ukai is standing over the other as he sits on the floor, but any intimidation that might be granted by the angle is stripped away again by the bandana tied to hold blond hair back. It makes him look domestic instead of frightening, even if Takeda hadn’t long ago stopped being nervous around the other.

“I’m cleaning,” he finally says, gesturing around the catastrophe of books stacked around him.

Ukai follows the motion of his hand, his mouth falling into a frown of confusion. “I think this room is worse now than when it started.”

“You said I was in charge of dusting,” Takeda insists as he gets to his feet. He’s trying to move carefully to avoid kicking the stacks around him, but the loose end of his pants catches on a corner and four books go sliding to the floor before he can catch them. Ukai makes a wordless sound of protest, both of them diving to grab at the pile as it tips over the floor and only succeeding in tipping over another.

“This is not dusting,” Ukai points out, after the slow collapse of every single stack of books is complete and they are both on their knees in the midst of chaos.

Takeda takes a breath and rocks back over his heels. “It was,” he offers. “I was working on the room and got to the bookshelf, but the books were all out of order and I needed to reorganize them, and I hadn’t seen --” He reaches for the one he had opened but it’s lost under the others and he gives it up. “The one I was reading, I hadn’t seen it before and I wanted to figure out where it belonged.”

“You make that sound so logical,” Ukai sighs.

“It is logical!” Takeda protests. Ukai is staring at him, his mouth a flat line of disapproval, but he doesn’t look really angry and Takeda has a good defense. “I couldn’t just dust around the outside of the books.”

Ukai sits back on his heels, ducks his head and presses a hand to his forehead so Takeda can’t see his features for a moment. “That’s exactly what you do. You can’t dust that thoroughly every time you do it.”

Takeda makes a strangled noise of protest. “But if it’s worth doing in the first place --”

Ukai reaches out, closes his hand on Takeda’s shoulder without looking up. “Ittetsu.” There’s a sound under his voice, some tension that Takeda can’t place without seeing his features, and it cuts off his words in his throat. “Just let me do it.”

“I want to help,” Takeda says, and then Ukai lifts his head and he can see the grin at the blond’s mouth, the amusement so close to a laugh he can hear it when the blond speaks.

“It’s fine.” Ukai glances at the mess around them, chokes on a chuckle in the back of his throat before he can repress the sound. “I’m finished with the windows anyway.”

“But--”

“Look.” Ukai’s fingers tighten at Takeda’s shoulder, press in against the thin-washed soft of his old t-shirt. “You should make lunch for us. It’ll be better than me trying to fumble through it.”

“You’re getting better,” Takeda insists loyally.

That earns him a smile but not retreat. “Look, it’ll be better if we play to our strengths, right?” Ukai pushes himself up, only letting Takeda’s shoulder go to offer him a hand and pull him to his feet. “You can cook.” He turns his head away again so Takeda only sees his grin in profile. “I can dust a bookshelf without throwing all the books on the floor.”

“I didn’t put them there deliberately,” Takeda points out, but he’s smiling too, and Ukai is reaching out to loop an arm around his shoulders and pull him in closer. He smells like dust and lemon-scent cleaner, but his shirt is soft and the heat of his shoulder in familiar, and when Takeda hums pleasure and winds his arms around the blond’s waist Ukai doesn’t move to push him away.

It’s several minutes before they get back to their spring cleaning, but Takeda can’t stop smiling while he makes sandwiches, and Ukai’s grinning when he comes out to join the other. “We make a good team,” Takeda offers while Ukai’s in the middle of his second sandwich. The blond snorts without trying to speak, but his eyes are soft, and when he kicks Takeda under the table it’s gentle with affection.


	4. April

By mid-afternoon, Ukai has hit a comfortable level of tipsy. He and Takeda have been out since dawn, perched on the top of a gentle slope amid the trees as if there would really be any competition for spots. More people did filter in as the sun rose higher -- a family, a few couples, a cluster of high schoolers -- but no one within earshot of the two of them. It’s been very like being alone together, with just the cherry blossoms and the sake they brought to keep them company, and it’s been nearly an hour since Takeda gave up on being upright and laid back on their blanket to stare at the blossoms overhead.

“You hungry?” Ukai asks without looking down. He doesn’t have to; he knows where Takeda is, can feel the other pressed in warm against his wrist and the side of his leg. It’s not like they don’t have enough space on the blanket for the two of them, but Takeda gets cuddly when he’s tipsy, and Ukai has no motivation at all to complain.

“Mm,” Takeda hums. “Not yet. Soon.”

“You said that hours ago,” Ukai points out, more for the sake of feeling the words in his mouth than out of protest. The sky is very blue, clear but for trailing wisps of clouds, and there’s almost no wind, just enough to occasionally shift the branches arching over them. With Takeda against him and probably somewhat more sake than is reasonable in him Ukai thinks he might never move again, that if he could just stay in this moment forever his life would be perfectly complete.

“Soon,” Takeda says again, dreamy and unfocused, and Ukai can hear him drifting away to another subject before he speaks. “This is my favorite time of the year.” He sighs, pleasure audible in the sound. “It’s so beautiful.”

“How much can you even see like that?” Ukai asks, finally looking away to glance down. Takeda is staring up over them, his eyes wide and unobstructed by his glasses. It makes him look far younger than he is, younger than Ukai is, grants him a radiant beauty usually disguised behind the lines of his frames.

Takeda’s gaze slides to him, his lips curving unconsciously into a smile like the very sight Ukai’s face is infusing him with delight. “You’re a little blurry.” His hand comes up, fingers brush the edge of Ukai’s jaw. The friction pours into Ukai’s blood, goes warm with intoxicating heat so his eyelashes flutter and his exhale comes out almost like a purr. “But the sky looks pink, like this, like the blossoms are spilling out into the blue.”

“You’re just drunk,” Ukai offers, the words warm and affectionate. Takeda laughs and Ukai grins, shifts his weight so he can slide his fingers through the other’s dark hair. Takeda’s eyes shut under the contact and he sighs in satisfaction; with his glasses off he looks a little like he’s asleep, the same sort of languid peace ghosting across his features that Ukai usually sees first thing in the morning.

“I’m glad you moved in with me,” he says, apropos of nothing at all.

Takeda doesn’t even open his eyes. He just smiles wider, rolls sideways to reach out and loops his arm around the blond’s waist.

“Me too,” he says, the words nearly lost to the weight of the other’s jeans.

Ukai lets himself topple backwards without needing to be pulled, drops out across the blanket so he’s on the same level as Takeda. The other makes a soft noise of satisfaction, shifts in closer so he can fit his head on Ukai’s shoulder and his arm around the blond’s waist. Ukai’s pretty sure he’s falling asleep, or at least drifting in a haze between consciousness and a daydream, but he doesn’t try to wake him up. He’s not hungry yet, himself, and Takeda was right, the view straight up from the ground is glorious. He listens to the sound of Takeda’s breathing going slower with comfort, lets his gaze slide blurry and out-of-focus. The cherry blossoms go hazy, blend with the blue of the sky, and for just a moment it looks like the clouds overhead are bursting into bloom.


	5. May

Takeda thought that after four months he would have seen most of Ukai’s idiosyncracies. Most of them are minor oddities, more amusing than troublesome: he is fastidious about cleanup in the kitchen and the bathroom but nowhere else in the house, for example. His sleep schedule is unpredictable, four hours one night and ten the next. When he has a day off he’ll go back into bed after taking a shower, sometimes staying there for hours until he emerges barely in time for lunch. Takeda finds it charming, likes everything about Ukai, and every new thing he discovers is like unearthing a present, some undiscovered territory in the World of Ukai Keishin.

Today he is learning that Ukai  _hates_  being ill.

It is a day off for them both, at least. Takeda still woke up early, made breakfast and picked up the book he’s been reading while he waited for Ukai to make his slow way into consciousness. But it was only an hour before there was a groan from the bedroom, pained enough that Takeda entirely lost his place on the page for concern, and when he came through the door Ukai was lying on his back with his arm thrown over his face.

“I’m dying,” was what he offered by way of greeting, and Takeda has been doing his best to convince him to the contrary all day. He did get the other to move out to the couch before noon, which felt like a victory all in itself, and Ukai’s been there ever since, lying on his stomach and occasionally whimpering in nonspecific agony. When Takeda rounds the corner from the kitchen with a cup of tea in hand, Ukai turns his head to track him, grumbles something incoherent and pained, and starts trying to sit up before Takeda can stop him.

“Wait,” and he throws a hand out towards him, nearly upends the tea all over the table before he catches the balance of the cup enough to deposit it on the surface. Ukai blinks at him and Takeda comes around the edge of the table, reaches out to hold his shoulder and help ease him upright. “Go slowly.”

“It doesn’t make a difference,” Ukai says. The congestion in his throat and nose makes him sound like he’s been crying, or like he has entirely forgotten how to breathe. “Everything hurts.”

“That’s because you’re not letting me help you,” Takeda insists, reaching out to retrieve the tea so he can steady it for Ukai’s hold.

Ukai takes a sip, swallows, coughs hard. “I don’t usually get sick,” he insists, like that has some bearing on his current state.

“Well, you’re sick now,” Takeda says. He lands the cup safely back on the table, reaches out to press the back of his hand against Ukai’s forehead. “You have a fever. Are you sure you don’t want me to call a doctor?”

Ukai nods, leans back against the couch and closes his eyes. “I’ll be okay.” He coughs again, heavy with the sound of aching pain. “I just need to rest.”

“Like I said when you got up,” Takeda declares, cheerful in his original remedy being thus confirmed. “You just stay here and I’ll have you better soon!”

Ukai makes a faint whimper of protest when Takeda leans in to kiss the corner of his forehead. “Careful,” he suggests. “Don’t want you to catch this.”

“It’s fine,” Takeda soothes. Ukai’s hair is very soft free of his usual headband; when he strokes it back the other sighs in what sounds like contentment, in spite of his protest regarding contagion. “I don’t get sick either. And I’m good at taking care of people.”

“You are,” Ukai admits.

Takeda smiles. “I know.” He eases blond hair back across the other’s fever-flushed forehead before pulling away and getting to his feet. “I’ll see what we have for soup, okay?”

Ukai doesn’t reply until Takeda is nearly at the door. Then he clears his throat, coughs again, and finally says, “I can take care of myself, you know.”

Takeda pauses to glance back. Ukai has turned his head and opened his eyes to watch him go; his expression is soft, only the tension of pain in his forehead to interrupt the apologetic affection in his eyes.

“I know,” Takeda says. “But with me you don’t have to.”

That earns him a smile, faint but sincere, and he flashes an answering grin before ducking around the corner in pursuit of soup.


	6. June

“How many different colored socks do you  _have_?”

Takeda looks up from the pile of clothing on his lap, looking a little like he’s been buried underneath a very warm and very colorful snowdrift. He’s fishing socks out of the pile with no particular logic that Ukai can see, but every time the blond looks up the stack of matched pairs is growing higher, so he must be doing something right.

“I’m not sure,” he admits. “I could count, I guess.”

“Why not just have them all be the same?” Ukai flicks the wrinkles out of a t-shirt, tosses it over the growing stack at the back of the couch. “They’re easier to match that way, right?”

“But you don’t know if you’ve found the  _right_  match,” Takeda protests. He’s smiling without looking up, radiating contentment down at the clothes on his lap until Ukai’s hands still on the remaining laundry, hesitating in the chore for a moment for the sheer pleasure of looking at Takeda’s smile. “If they’re all different you know when the pair is done.”

Ukai has to laugh. Takeda looks up at him, his smile going wider, and Ukai shakes his head and looks back down at the shirts. “It doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“But they wear differently,” Takeda points out. “You could put a lot more use on one pair than another, and if they get mixed up they’ll wear through differently.”

“You’ve put way too much thought into this,” Ukai points out, rather more affectionately than anything else. It’s hardly a surprise; Takeda goes about everything with an overattention to detail, which is useful when following recipes and more difficult when trying to do the dishes. That’s why Ukai takes over the shirts; the last time Takeda did them, he folded each one separately, even though they’re all destined to hangers in the closet anyway.

Takeda just laughs. “Yeah.” He reaches into the pile to tug another sock free, reaches around the side to pull out its match from a half-inch of visible toe. Ukai is impressed, enough that he doesn’t realize he’s forgotten what he’s doing again.

It’s not like that’s a problem. They’re in no rush, after all, and there’s a pleasure to be had in watching the narrow fingers that are so clumsy with books or dishes go smooth and elegant as Takeda inverts the cuff of a sock to wrap it neatly together with its mate. The other glances up as he sets it aside and catches Ukai staring at him, but it just earns the blond a smile, as easy and unpracticed as Takeda’s smiles always are.

Ukai goes back to the shirts after a moment, his breathing catching warmin his throat as he shakes the clothes free to lay them in a single precarious stack to hang up. They’re as mixed up as the socks, his own single-color t-shirts alongside Takeda’s patterned ones, but it’s pointless to try to separate them.

Ukai’s pretty sure, now, that there’s never going to be a need for that.


	7. July

“Ittetsu, if you don’t hurry up I’m going to start it without you.”

“I’m on my way!” Takeda insists. He’s realizing, now, as he tries to pick his way from the kitchen to the living room, that maybe trying to carry the bowl of popcorn as well as a blanket as well as balancing two glasses of water in the crook of his elbow was not the best idea, particularly as the popcorn is still hot enough that his glasses are starting to go hazy from the steam. He had been trying to save time by doing it in one trip, but in practice he’s moving at a crawl, testing each step as he takes it to avoid a truly catastrophic fall.

There’s an audible sigh from the other room, the sound of Ukai getting up off the couch. “What on earth is taking you--” he is saying as he comes around the corner far faster than Takeda can react. Takeda manages a strangled sound of protest and warning at once, starts to rock back from the impending collision, and he steps on the edge of the trailing blanket and can feel a cold wave of instinctive panic run through him as he starts to fall. His balance is slipping, the bowl is tipping upwards towards him and the cups are sliding, and in just a minute he’s going to go toppling over backwards and end up drenched in ice water and covered in popcorn.

“Woah!” Ukai’s reflexes prove better than Takeda’s; he’s still shouting in reaction when he moves, reaches out to grab at the other’s elbow with a grip tight enough to bruise but also, thankfully, tight enough to halt the pull of gravity. His other hand is a moment later, enough to save the glasses from the floor if not to save Takeda’s shirt from a decent splash of water from the both of them.

Everything still feels precarious for a moment after the crisis has passed, adrenaline making Takeda shaky even though the cause of it is over. Ukai doesn’t let his hold go for a moment, keeps his hand pressed tight to Takeda’s elbow as he eyes his face.

“Are you okay?” he asks first.

Takeda nods, sighs as his breathing starts to steady out again. “I’m fine.”

“Okay.” Ukai’s eyebrows pull together. “ _Don’t move_.”

Takeda doesn’t. He stays where he is, his foot half-on the blanket looped around his shoulders as Ukai eases the glasses free and carries them into the other room. The blond is shaking his head when he comes back out to relieve Takeda of the bowl, his head ducked down so Takeda almost can’t see the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I’m never going to trust you with carrying things again,” he says when he comes back for the blanket. He  _is_  smiling, Takeda can hear the laughter in his throat, and he’s reaching out to tug at the edge of the other’s shirt as he collects the soft of the blanket over his arm. “You wanna change?”

“Yeah,” Takeda admits, and Ukai glances at his face and lets his smile break free to tug at the corner of his mouth.

“Good luck,” he teases. “Try not to run into a wall on your way.”

“I’m fine!” Takeda protests, but he does take his glasses off to wipe them mostly-clean before he goes to change into a dry t-shirt.

Ukai is spread out across the entire couch by the time he gets back, eating from the bowl of popcorn on the floor and only moving to sit up as Takeda rounds the corner. He has the movie already up on the screen, only the opening credits visible so Takeda has no idea what they’re watching.

“Come here,” Ukai says, but the order is entirely unnecessary; Takeda is already pushing the blanket up to make room for his feet so he can slide in close alongside the blond. Ukai watches him, an amused smile still lingering at his lips, and he waits until Takeda is settled close enough for their knees to bump together before he reaches for the remote and says, “Ready?”

“Ready,” Takeda agrees. Ukai hits play, reaches out for his shoulders with one hand and the popcorn with the other, and Takeda tucks his feet up under him and presses his arm against the warmth of Ukai’s waist, and he’s smiling too before he has any idea what movie they’re watching.


	8. August

Ukai leaves Takeda to the groceries as soon as they get into the store. They developed a strategy shortly after they moved in together: Takeda handles the food, Ukai tackles most of the cleaning, and it’s a fairly even split when shopping too. Ukai knows where all the cleaning supplies are, can collect those along with necessities like toothpaste and shampoo in the time it takes Takeda to make it through the produce section, and if he’s not selecting meals they end up with more of the raw ingredients Takeda favors and fewer of the frozen and boxed meals Ukai is drawn to.

Usually Takeda is waiting for him by the registers by the time Ukai is done. He has less to get, even if he’s slower about the actual shopping process, and even when Ukai beats him it’s only by a minute or two. But today Ukai waits, and waits, and waits, and after nearly ten minutes have passed he goes in search of his absent boyfriend.

It’s not hard to find him. Takeda is ruffling his hair absently, dragging his fingers up over the back of his head and tangling the short curls into more of a mess than they usually are while he stares at a display of avocados like he’s never seen them before. He doesn’t look up when Ukai comes closer, is still chewing at his lower lip in idle consideration when the blond asks, “What’s the problem?”

Takeda takes a sharp startled gasp, his head coming up to blink in uncomprehending blankness at Ukai for a moment before recognition clicks into place behind his eyes and his expression softens into bright pleasure.

“Keishin,” he says by way of greeting before looking back down at the fruit. “You like avocados.”

Ukai is not wholly clear on why this is apparently a crisis. “I do.”

“How are you supposed to get ripe ones?” Takeda asks without looking up. “They’re supposed to be soft, right?” He reaches for one at random, considers the give under the pressure of his fingers as his forehead creases in confusion. “But not too soft.” He sets it back down, goes back to contemplating the pile in front of him. “Is it just a matter of guessing at random?”

Ukai grins at the top of Takeda’s head, even though the other isn’t looking up to see his expression. When he steps in closer it’s to reach out for an avocado; the fact that his hip bumps against the other man’s, that Takeda tips in closer unconsciously, is a coincidence, if a pleasant one.

“Part of it is the color.” He holds the one he’s picked next to one of the other, greener fruits. “The green ones are less ripe. The darker it is the riper it is, so you want to get it a dark green, almost black.” When he presses gently against the skin it gives just slightly under his fingertips; he offers it to Takeda, sets the fruit against the other’s palm when he holds it out obediently to accept the weight. “You just have to get a feel for the softness. That one’s not hard to the touch, so it’s probably good.”

Takeda’s still considering the fruit, pressing his thumb with excessive gentleness against the side of the avocado, when Ukai clears his throat and reaches out to turn the fruit end-up in the other’s hand.

“One other thing.” Takeda braces his hand as Ukai presses at the end of the stem set into the base of the avocado. It flicks out under the pressure of his nail, leaves a pale green inset against the darker skin of the fruit. He touches his finger to it, drawing Takeda’s eyes to follow the motion of his hand. “If it’s pale like this, you’re good to go. Sometimes it’s black instead. Means it’s overripe.”

He’s expecting Takeda’s bright “Oh!” of delight, like Ukai’s shown him some magical secret instead of just a quick way to check avocado ripeness. It still makes him grin as he reaches to takes Takeda’s basket from him while the other goes back to his shopping list to determine what else he has yet to buy.

As it turns out, he was derailed early on. Ukai ends up accompanying Takeda for most of the grocery shopping too, holding both baskets while Takeda wanders through the aisles in consideration of the order of his list rather than the most efficient route through the store.

Ukai finds he doesn’t really mind at all, in the end.


	9. September

“I told you you shoulda worn sunscreen.”

Ukai is standing over Takeda’s shoulder, both of them considering the other’s complexion with faint alarm and some awe. Takeda knows he’s prone to burning but this is something altogether worse, the result of an outdoor practice session for the team and a lapse in his usually dutiful sunscreen habit.

“I didn’t think I’d need it.” He’s really more impressed than in pain; the burn looks far worse than it feels, only offering a faint twinge when he presses his fingers to the skin though it is holding a scarlet color as if he’s horribly embarrassed or far too drunk for his own safety. It’s worse when he takes his glasses off; without the interruption of the frames it’s clear that the burn extends across his cheeks and over his forehead while missing his eyes entirely, making him look a little like he’s wearing an odd sort of goggle.

“Just because it’s cooler outside doesn’t mean the sun won’t burn,” Ukai points out. Fingers push at the back of Takeda’s neck, ruffle the hair up over the collar of his jacket so he can consider the pale skin over the line of his shirt. “Least your clothes covered the rest of you, mostly.”

“This is going to take days to heal,” Takeda observes, still poking at the blur he can see of his crimson face in the mirror. “I’m going to look ridiculous.”

There’s a laugh from the shape he can see over his shoulder in the reflection, quick motion and the press of lips to his forehead. “You look cute.” Ukai’s fingers are gentle against his hair, pushing up over his scalp so Takeda lets his head fall forward and forgets to worry about the burn for the heavy satisfaction of the sensation instead. “Like you always do.” His fingers press in harder, drag all the way across to the edge of Takeda’s hairline before they stop just shy of the sunburnt skin.

“Go lie on the bed,” Ukai orders, letting Takeda’s hair go so he can push gently at his shoulder and ease him into a turn. “I’ll help you.”

“What are you going to do?” Takeda asks, fitting his glasses back on so he can peer more clearly at Ukai’s face.

The blond grins. “It’s a surprise,” he declares. “Go and be patient.”

Takeda goes. Ukai follows a moment later, reaching out to pull Takeda’s glasses free before the other can see what the blond has in his hand. He gives up on guessing, blinks at the haze cast by myopia on the surroundings, and when Ukai reaches out to press cool fingers against the burn in his skin he gasps a startled breath before he recognizes the cool of aloe vera.

“Oh,” he says, and smiles, and shuts his eyes and lets Ukai smooth the gel across his damaged skin. By the time the blond pulls his hand away the ache is nearly absent, the worst of the pain eased off by the comfort of the cool gel and the gentle stroke of the other’s fingers.

“Maybe you’ll get freckles,” Ukai says as Takeda puts his glasses back on, carefully over the faint stickiness of the aloe on his skin, and sits up so he can blink at Ukai’s grin.

“Oh no,” Takeda half-laughs. “I’ll look really ridiculous then.”

Ukai’s grin flashes brighter. He reaches out, catches his hand at the back of Takeda’s head to pull him in closer. His lips are warm against the other’s forehead, the touch more soothing than the gel itself.

“Cute,” he declares, and Takeda laughs and looks up, reaches out to tug at the other’s shoulder and bring him back in for a real kiss.

Under the friction of Ukai’s lips, Takeda forgets about his sunburn entirely.


	10. October

Karaoke was Takeda’s idea in the first place. Ukai didn’t offer much protest -- he’s not a good singer but it’s not like Takeda doesn’t know that, at this point, and getting drunk and singing off-key duets sounded like fun, the same way getting Takeda drunk is always fun. So he volunteers to go first, fumbles his way through a song while Takeda does his level best to not laugh audibly behind him, and when he hands off the microphone it’s with a little bow deliberately out of keeping with the quality of his actual performance.

“Try to top  _that_ ,” he teases, falling back to his chair and reaching for the sake. He’s flushed from amused self-consciousness, the flat notes still clinging to his tongue like an aftertaste, and the first drink is more to wash away that lingering awkwardness than to actually taste the alcohol. That’s what the second drink is for, the one he’s lifting to his mouth as Takeda takes a breath, and luckily he hasn’t actually started to swallow as the other starts to sing or he would be in true danger of choking.

“What the  _fuck_ ,” he blurts, and he does splash liquid over the edge of the cup as he sits forward too fast, but he’s not concerned with the state of his shirt right now. “You’re  _amazing_.”

Takeda looks over, his eyes going wide with surprise at the compliment, and for a moment the amplified sound crackles apart into a shocked laugh as he flushes across his cheeks.

“You think so?” he asks, not pulling the microphone away so the question comes loud and staticy over the music. The noise makes him jump, pulls his attention back to the screen and the singing he’s supposed to be doing, and Ukai is left to stare at Takeda’s shoulders while the usual high range of his voice turns into a lilting, beautiful thing, sweeping out over the notes of the song effortlessly. It’s uncanny, to hear that angelic tone coming from the man Ukai is far more likely to describe as awkward than elegant.

He stays perfectly quiet for the rest of the song, until Takeda is glancing back at him with concern in his eyes as the last notes die in his throat. Then he’s setting the microphone aside, stepping in to reach out to touch Ukai’s sleeve. Ukai doesn’t look at him right away; he’s still staring at the now-blank screen, trying to fit this new piece of information in with the person he keeps making the mistake of thinking he knows completely.

Finally he lets himself fall back against the chair, lets his breath out in a rush. The glass of sake is still in his hand; he downs it at once, tipping his head far back before reaching out to set the empty cup against the table.

“You never told me you could sing like that,” he finally says, looking up to meet the gold of Takeda’s wide-eyed stare.

“I didn’t know you’d think I was that good!” Takeda offers as defense, but Ukai’s starting to smile as the shock wears off and Takeda’s matching his expression with a sheepish grin.

“The point of karaoke isn’t to blow everyone away,” Ukai points out. “You’re supposed to be hilariously bad and make me feel better about not being able to carry a tune if I try.” He grins wider at Takeda’s start to an apology, pushes at his hip to motion him back towards the microphone.

“Don’t apologize,” he insists. “You’re the one who’s gonna be serenading me, now that your secret’s out.”

That makes Takeda laugh, the sincere giggle that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes Ukai grin in involuntary echo. Ukai picks the next song, one of the favorites he can’t do justice to personally, and this time when Takeda takes a deep inhale and starts to sing he’s expecting it enough to avoid missing the first verse in shock.

This was definitely not what he was expecting from a karaoke date. Then again, Ukai wasn’t expecting to discover an as-yet-unknown talent from his boyfriend, so it’s turning out to be a night of surprises.

He doesn’t mind. He likes surprises like this one.


	11. November

“We really don’t have to stay in the bedroom, you know.”

Takeda can just make out the familiar shape of Ukai’s face. Between the flickering light of the candles set on either side of the bed and the absence of his own glasses it’s only proximity that makes the blond recognizable.

“Yes we do.” He’s been insisting on this point for a while now, every ten minutes or so since the power flickered and died and left them both standing disoriented in the dark of the living room. “The storm could last for days, we need to preserve as much heat as we can.”

Ukai’s laugh seems louder in the dim light, rolling out to unfurl into the shadowed corners of the room as he falls backwards across the bed to grin up at Takeda. “Ittetsu, it isn’t even snowing anymore.”

“It could start again at any moment,” Takeda points out, leaning in over Ukai to press an off-center kiss against the side of his mouth. Ukai laughs against him, reaches out to fit his hand to Takeda’s cheek and steer him into better alignment. The air in the room is still warm, without any time to really adopt the outside chill yet, but his mouth is still radiantly warm against Takeda’s. Takeda lingers for a moment, letting his lips flush warm with friction, and then pulls back because he’s not sure Ukai is wholly convinced yet of the severity of the situation. “We could be without power for  _days_.”

“You sounds like you’re enjoying this,” Ukai observes, more amusement than judgment in his tone.

“Of course I am,” Takeda admits immediately. Ukai snorts laughter, drops his hand so he can fit it behind his head as he blinks up at the other in silent invitation to go on. “It’s like unexpectedly camping in your own house. Everything is different than usual without electricity, that makes it so  _exciting_!”

“And there’s the threat of death by freezing, don’t forget that.”

“Yes!” Takeda agrees, then pauses to consider. “Well. Not actually freezing. But it makes it feel kind of excitingly dangerous.”

“Especially when there’s still power on at the shop,” Ukai grins. “We could always go there to warm up.”

“Well.” Takeda huffs. “If we had to as a last resort.”

That makes Ukai laugh, the sound startlingly loud even on the second occurrence. Takeda smiles in echoed pleasure, warm and humming with the low-level adrenaline of novelty, the dim lighting turning their apartment into something shadowed and thrilling.

“So.” Ukai turns his head, looks Takeda over consideringly. “Did you have any other ideas for preserving heat?”

Takeda opens his mouth to respond, adrenaline happy to convert into fizzing heat under his skin, and there’s a flash, a burst of illumination so bright it takes him a moment to blink and realize the overhead light has come back on.

“Oh.” Ukai pushes himself up to sitting. “Power’s back.”

“Aww,” Takeda sighs. “We barely even had time to get the candles out.”

His nearsightedness is more apparent in the brighter light; when he looks up he can’t quite see the face Ukai is making as the blond looks down at him. He can see the hand that reaches out for him, though, fingers ruffling through his hair idly as Ukai slides to the end of the bed, offers “Wait here” as instruction.

The lights going back off as Ukai turns the switch off is immediately soothing, pulls Takeda’s attention back to the other as if there’s any chance he can make out the blond’s expression from across the dim-lit room. He doesn’t have to make the futile attempt for very long; Ukai is returning immediately, coming back over the bed to return to his original position, close enough that Takeda can see the smirk at his mouth without having to reach for his abandoned glasses.

“So about not freezing to death,” the blond offers conversationally.

Takeda starts to laugh instead of answering. Ukai’s smirk flashes wider, bright across his face, and then he’s leaning in to kiss against Takeda’s mouth without waiting for the other to get his expression under control.

They don’t turn the lights on again that night.


	12. December

Ukai wasn’t expecting the storm to come in as quickly as it did. It’s been snowing on and off all week, little flurries interspersed with winter-bright sunshine or days of steady snowfall building up in heaps on the edge of the rooftops and along the edge of the sidewalks. But this morning had dawned bright and sooner than Ukai was expecting, and in the rush to make it out the door on time he left both umbrella and scarf behind him at the house. When the first flakes started to fall, he held out hope that they would dissipate by the time the shop closes, but they’ve continued falling steadily all day, coating over his hope into resignation so he’s mentally if not physically ready for the cold slog home in the fast-fading sunlight.

He’s hunching his shoulders in anticipation of that, thinking ahead to the discomfort awaiting him, when the bell at the door jingles a few minutes after closing time. Ukai’s still in the middle of sorting through the coins in the register, doesn’t look up as he speaks.

“Sorry, we’re closed. Haven’t turned the sign around yet but I gotta get home.”

“I’m glad I caught you!” a familiar voice pants from the doorway. Ukai looks up immediately, attention dragged away by the chirp of that tone, and he’s rewarded by Takeda beaming from the door, flecks of white snow too fresh to have melted into the dark of his hair.

“Hey there,” Ukai says, smiling involuntarily as Takeda’s glasses fog in the warmth of the shop. “What are you doing here?”

“You forgot your scarf.” Takeda is tugging his glasses off, pushing up the edge of his sweater -- overlarge, it’s probably technically one of Ukai’s -- so he can swipe at the lenses with his shirt. Ukai grins, looks back down so he can finish sorting through the register as Takeda continues. “I thought I’d bring it out and meet you.”

“Did you run?” Ukai asks. He drops the last coin into the drawer, shoves it shut as he looks back up. Takeda is pushing his hair back from his face, fitting his glasses back in place so he can look up and meet Ukai’s gaze properly before smiling as brightly as if he has brought the absent sun in with him.

“I was worried you would leave before I got here,” he explains, coming farther into the store as Ukai unfastens the knots of his apron, slides it off to be replaced with his coat.

“I almost did.” Ukai drops the apron over the edge of the counter, considers the tidy lines of the store as he comes around to meet the other. Takeda’s hair is only damp, now, the traces of the snow melted between the heat of his body and the warm of the shop. Ukai reaches out unthinkingly, ruffles his fingers through the locks while he looks to the door. “Did you bring an umbrella?”

“Ah.” Takeda coughs, clears his throat in a way that is as much admission as his spoken “I forgot the umbrella.”

Ukai looks back at him, grins instant forgiveness. “You bring me my scarf but forget the umbrella.” He takes the blue scarf Takeda is offering, fishing it out from his overstuffed pocket so the blond can twist it in tight around his neck. “Typical.”

“Better the scarf than nothing at all, right?” Takeda trails Ukai to the door, lingers at the plate glass to watch the snow fall while Ukai turns the sign to closed, reaches to flip the row of light switches off and drop them into the oncoming darkness of the night.

“Yeah.” Ukai leads the way out into the biting cold of the snowfall, holds the door open without thinking so Takeda can follow him. It only takes a moment to turn the lock behind them; then he’s fitting the keys back into his pocket, Takeda’s fingers curling in around his elbow so the other can steady himself against the almost-ice of hard-packed snow just in front of the store.

There’s still a dusting of snow falling when they step out from the overhang in front of the door, a few lingering flakes to catch at Ukai’s face when he turns his head up towards the sky. The air is chill against his exposed skin but Takeda is leaning in warm against his shoulder, looking up to squint at the drifitng snow alongside him.

“It’s beautiful,” Takeda offers, soft and breathless like he’s struck by the sight. When Ukai glances at him his eyes are wide in the dim lighting, his mouth half-parted on the words like he has forgotten to close it. His scarf is lopsided around his neck, his hair tangled beyond help across his forehead; even his feet are awkward, off-center from each other as if to give him a better purchase on balance.

Ukai can’t help the impulse that brings him ducking in, pulling Takeda in by his grip on the other’s elbow so he can kiss the corner of his mouth. He can feel Takeda smile, delight startled out of him by the contact, and for a moment Ukai forgets the chill of the falling snow, the bite of winter around them, in favor of paying attention to more important things. When he pulls away Takeda is all but laughing, involuntary delight startled out of him by the kiss, and Ukai is grinning himself, all his resignation turned into anticipation for the pleasure of the walk back.

“Come on,” he says, slipping his hand free of his pocket to tangle his fingers with Takeda’s.

“Let’s go home.”


End file.
